and i told you to be balanced
by Trylan Aire
Summary: "He sends me letters, you know. He's worried…we all are."


She wasn't entirely sure what this man's name was, but he was absurdly warm in such cold weather, and he tasted like fire infused alcohol and his lips burned against hers. His big, calloused hands roamed over her body and she let them, arching forward and allowing one of those warm hands up the hem of her parka. His lips curled up, and she could feel the warmth on his cheeks, and her eyes fluttered open and glanced over the pale blue ones staring back at her. He was no one, really. No one of importance. None of them were. These types of people were found in every single place the young Avatar ended up. So she did what she had learned to, and used and used them until they could offer her no more. That was when she left.

It was a free lifestyle, one that she loved. She reveled in this new freedom, something she had never experienced as a young girl. She was free now, free to go where she pleased, free to make her own decisions, free to fuck anyone she wanted.

A few sacrifices had been made to achieve this type of life. Those were the things she didn't like to talk about. Sometimes, when the men got too curious, they would speak to her, in between heated kisses and burning touches. She would swallow their words with her lips, drawing their attention elsewhere. It didn't matter to her, much, when they got a bit nosy. It was the answering she was wary of. No one had the right to know her anymore. She was flighty now, her feet never touching the same land for longer than a few hours. She was free, she would assure herself, like she had always wanted to be.

_You've never been alone before _that pesky voice in the back of her mind would argue. Her eyes would close, her teeth dragging over the bottom lip of whoever was kissing her at the moment, and she would just think, 'I'_m not alone now, either'_

That voice would nag at her, repeating relentlessly, _'This isn't the type of company you deserve. You need to go back,'_

So she stopped thinking now, to avoid that righteous voice. She would close off everything, and focus solely on the feel of the slick body beneath hers, and the way they tasted, and how they responded to her touches.

_Safety_, she scoffed, _I don't need safety. I'm the Avatar _

She went home, a few times. The South Pole held no comparison to what she had seen in her travels, but the trip back was worth it when she saw her Parents. Senna would smile, a tender hand cupping her daughter's scarred cheeks, her worried blue eyes searching that expressionless face.

"Have you been to the City?" Senna would ask, each time, her tone as subtle as the greying streaks in her hair. Korra's lips would press together and she would shake her head. Korra would ignore her Mother's expression of disappointment. "He sends me letters, you know. He's worried…we all are." And Korra would excuse herself then, embracing her Father and turning to face her Mother with dark, tired eyes.

"I know." she would reply.

Korra typically ended up in a bar after those types of talks, and she would seek out whatever drunken man was brave enough to speak to her. She would lead him back to her room at an Inn, and his searching hands would do the rest.

That's how these things worked.

Her mind would travel, however, during these escapades. Back to fire nation gold instead of icy, blue eyes, pale skin instead of rich ochre. Her eyes would squeeze tight and her breathe would quicken. Something in her chest tightened at the thought of him, and her fingers dug deep into the back of her lover. His breathe was uncomfortably warm on her bare skin, but she ignored it, and responded fully against him, pressing to him and urging him forward with a tight grip and wet lips.

This man was just as experienced as she, and her lips curled down. The firebender had been a clumsy lover, his movements soft and gentle, his rough hands ghosting lightly over her skin. He made her feel beautiful, like she deserved to be touched and loved. Like she hadn't destroyed and killed and been dirtied by someone else's blood. He had been beautiful, but he had been too pristine for the life she had adapted to.

_Stop, stop, stop it._

So she ran away. The Avatar had no room in her life for weakness. She fought when she needed to, she destroyed what needed to be ruined, and she killed when she needed to kill. It was simple, in her placid, slowly darkening eyes. His eyes, however, were bright, filled with hope of a new life he was building for himself.

She had cried the first time she came home with blood on her hands. 'I couldn't save them…' He had held her, and pulled her stained, wet clothing from her trembling body. He had eased her into the shower, his careful hands moving over her skin, grazing tenderly over the bruises that decorated her like the medals on their walls.

It got easier, as it went on. She would slip into their apartment, her movements quick and calculated, and she would wash the flaking blood from her skin and watch the red tinted water slide down the tub.

The color made her sick, after awhile, but she never told him. Her eyes had hardly been able to meet his in the later days, and he could never quite understand why she would ask him to take that scarf off when he kissed her. She hadn't wanted such a dirty, agonizing color associated with his pretty face.

She left after one of those nights, after she came home with her hair matted, her skin wet with her blood intermingling with the stranger's. Her hands had left a stain on the wall, and he found them in the early morning, just as he found her clothing missing and every trace of her gone.

She was too impure for the life he wanted. How did Avatar Aang do it? Keep a smile on his face when the world was so messy, and hideous and bloody? How did he go home to a family and hold their hands when they were stained with so much pain and tragedy? Aang was a better liar than she was.

The man's lips hummed over the sensitive flesh at her throat, and his teeth raked over her collarbone, and she arched into him, her nails digging deeper and deeper until she was positive she had drawn blood. His rasping breath mingled in with the softer, rasping tones of hers. She wanted to laugh, because she was becoming a damned good liar too.


End file.
